Have you seen my wife, Mr Jones?
by pinklotus
Summary: Ianto and Gwen are romantically involved. These are Ianto's thoughts about their relationship after Rhys calls looking for Gwen. The title is based on a song,but this isn't a song fic. If you don't like the pairing please don't read.


Title : Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?

Pairing: Ianto/Gwen

Rating : R for sexual situations

Summary: Ianto and Gwen are together, and these are Ianto's thoughts on a typical night when Rhys calls to find out where Gwen is.

A/N- The title comes from a song of the same name, but this isn't a song fic. If you don't like either character or the pairing, please don't read!

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Torchwood.

*******

The phone rings at 1:00 am.

I know who it is even before I glance at the caller i.d.

Mr. Williams.

I answer anyway, forcing myself to sound cheerful.

"Hey Rhys, what's going on?" I stupidly say, as though he'd be calling me at one am just to chat.

"Ianto, do you know where Gwen is? Is she out in the field?" I can hear the worry in Rhys' voice, and I know I should feel guilty because the woman in question is curled up with her head on my chest, murmuring happily in her sleep.

I stroke her hair and say, "She was in the field earlier, Rhys. She should be home soon, though."

"She's not answering her mobile so I was worried, you know how it is," he sounds embarrassed now, and I rush to assure him that I do know how it is.

And I do.

I worry about his wife all the time.

"You know, Rhys- she can't really answer her phone while she's out in the field."

He laughs, but there's still some tension in his voice. "I know. I just-"

"Worry," I finish the sentence for him. "I understand. Don't, though. Everything's fine. I'm sure she'll have some fascinating story for you when she comes home."

Rhys laughs and agrees that he's looking forward to that, and then says cheerfully that he's going to heat up the soup he made for Gwen earlier.

I sigh and say that sounds delicious and tell him goodnight.

I wake her as gently as I can, softly whispering in her ear that we need to get up and get dressed. She needs to go home.

I spit out the word. I almost choke on it.

She _is_ home.

But she shakes herself awake when I say that, and has that momentary feeling of panic she always gets when she allows herself to fall asleep after we make love.

I tell her not to worry; I always make sure that I stay awake. I wouldn't want there to be problems for her and Rhys because she came home at six am.

I'm thoughtful that way.

She looks up at me and her voice is hoarse when she tells me she doesn't want to go.

She does this every time. And every time I say the same thing. "If I could keep you here I would. But we can't."

She nods. She knows it's true, but when you've just made love to someone, when you're in that cocoon of the two of you and the warmth of the bed, when your arms ,legs ,thighs and hips are melding together, you don't want to let go. You don't want to let go when her breasts are pressed against your chest and every part of your body is touching so that you almost don't know where you start and the other person ends.

Especially on a night like this.

The moon is almost unnaturally large and definitely blue. It's one of those nights when you feel like you're in a time out of time (and who would know that feeling better than us?) and you don't want it to end.

Every time we're together it gets harder and harder to break takes longer to untangle our bodies, our hands seem to have minds of their own and refuse to disentwine, our lips keep pressing together, and we can't stop breathing in each other.

Fuck- we've fallen in love.

It's the last thing we wanted.

Why did we start this?

It started as mutual comfort in the arms of a friend, fueled by chemistry and desire.

It didn't stop at that, however, and now it's much more.

Every time I hear Rhys' voice at the other end of the phone and he asks where his wife is I want to tell him. I don't want to hurt him, but I want this charade to end.

"Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?"

I keep waiting for Rhys to look at me and suddenly understand.

I am the one she goes to when she needs to open her heart. I'm the one she needs, the one she depends on in the end. It's hard to break the bonds forged in battle.

Sometimes they're deeper than the ones of the heart.

When you combine the two it's impossible to break.

There's a chain forged between us now, and neither one of us wants it off.

It's our life line.

So I'll help her put on her clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse. I'll let my hands roam over her breasts for a moment and she'll grasp my hands and hold them there.

I'll kiss her neck and she'll moan, and then she'll kiss me like she won't see me for another seven years instead of seven hours.

I'll brush her hair and stroke her neck, kiss behind her ear just to hear the soft noises she makes when I do.

We'll drive back to her place and try to keep things light, but we will have moments of sadness and what ifs, just like every other night.

I'll watch while she goes into her flat, and I'll stay until she puts out the living room lamp.

That's our signal that everything's fine.

I'll leave and go back to my flat thinking that everything is _not_ fine, and this should really end and I'll tell her so the next morning.

Then she'll call me just to hear my voice and say goodnight and I'll forget I ever thought of forgetting us.

In another night or so she'll be back in my arms and my bed and the phone will ring.

"_Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?"_

This time I won't answer.


End file.
